


Cold Shoulder

by UnproblematicMe



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Dark, Demons, Emotional Hurt, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Non-Consensual Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:54:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25211974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnproblematicMe/pseuds/UnproblematicMe
Summary: Crowley tries a new cunning tactic to conquer Aziraphale. Of course it backfires - horribly
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 96
Kudos: 297
Collections: Courts GO Re-Reads





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Starting a new fic! :)  
> Btw: I have not abandoned my series, I just have a lot I want to write and to do and the stupid days only have 24 hours. ;)

The first time Crowley had heard about the “Tactic of the cold shoulder” had been somewhere in the 1980s. He had found it in a magazine for women in the column of Deborah Wingurl (might have been a pseudonym) who had made it her goal to collect romancing strategies from all over the world and test them on the poor souls who turned to her for advice. So when Ronda, 27, from Greenwich, asked how to get her colleague Bob (name changed by editorial staff) to notice her, she directed her to the German saying “Willst du gelten, mach dich selten”. Roughly translated it means to make yourself rare if you want to be valued. Deborah called it the “Tactic of the cold shoulder” and basically Ronda was told not to give Bob the time of day.

The time Crowley had read it, he had dismissed it. Sure, for some people it maybe a suitable tactic but laying low and taking the backseat, was not really Crowley’s style.

Having all eyes on him when he entered a room in a flashy manner, sauntering to the room’s and the attention’s center with swaying hips and a seductive smirk and staying there for the rest of the night, usually gave him the option to pick from the prettiest women and most handsome men. Aggressively being his own amazing self worked just fine. So why resort to some boring passive tactic that let him not even enjoy the effect he had on his target?

However, his usual approach did not really work on his favorite target: Aziraphale. Oh, he loved watching the effect his innuendos, winks and flirtatious behavior had on the sweet angel. He sucked up the flustered smiles on his pink lips, the shy flutter of the long lashes, the pretty blush on the cherub cheeks and of course the adorable stutter of the usually so eloquent bookworm.

But unlike other targets, this one never gave in to his seduction tactics fully. Which fitted the theme of bitter irony that threaded through Crowley’s whole existence. Because while all the easy lovers he had known had been satisfying and entertaining, Aziraphale was the only one he really wanted and at the same time the only one he could not have.

For the longest time he had accepted that. They were an angel and demon, bound to age-old rules, under observation by their Head Offices and no matter what they wanted, they could not be together. But the failed apocalypse had not only re-shuffled the cards. No, it had grabbed them, drawn funny mustaches on the court cards and thrown the whole deck up into the air, tossing several of them into the ceiling ventilator.

It was no longer an unspoken law that whatever they did, they could never take the final step. So it started to hurt Crowley’s pride and heart when a year after the showdown at the airbase he had not made any progress.

By the time he started to doubt his approach, 6000 years of spoiling Aziraphale rotten with attention, gifts and helpful miracles had passed and Crowley felt that it was too late for the cold shoulder tactic now. But then he discovered by chance that Deborah Wingurl, despite having written for a small and no longer existing magazine, had gathered quite a loyal if humble following.

A forum on a womens’ website was dedicated to her alone and the ladies talked about her work. Crowley was not reading it at all, mind you. It was a mere coincidence that he spotted a thread about “Willst Du gelten, mach’ dich selten/ The Tactic of the cold shoulder“

Curious as to what the women had to say about it, Crowley clicked on it. Unfortunately nobody had information whether or not Ronda had had any success, but there were a lot of women who claimed to have achieved their goals. The ladies were in agreement that this tactic could not create affection, but that it was great to get a hesitant man to come to terms with his feelings and act on them.

Especially interesting were for Crowley the posts of DreamingLilly1984 and Starsheriff999. Those two suggested that the tactic of the cold shoulder worked even better after a longer period of lavishing the target with attention. Apparently the stark contrast to the absolute devotion increased the effect of being ignored.

Yet, Crowley was still not completely convinced. But a few more frustrating weeks of dates that were not really dates, of hints that were not taken and full of moments that were harmonic and companionable but not in the slightest romantic or sexy, took care of that.

So one Saturday morning while they were having brunch at a nice café, Crowley snapped. Not outwardly, but inwardly he lost his temper. Once more Aziraphale sat across him, moaning like a wanton whore over his food, fluttering his lashes coyly, smiling sweetly and then saying “Good bye, dear, see you tomorrow in the park. You bring the bread?”

Angry and annoyed Crowley made a decision. Two hours later he called Aziraphale in the bookshop and canceled their plans for Sunday afternoon with the excuse of having a plumber over for the broken toilet. It was hardly believable since Crowley’s belongings did not break (an exploding car close to the end of the world being the exception), even if they did, he could miracle the defect away and Crowley really hated plumbers due to an unfortunate incident in the 1990s.

But Aziraphale did not call him out on the lie, even though his voice sounded a tad subdued when he asked when they could meet instead.

Úsually the hurt timbre in Aziraphale’s soft voice would have turned Crowley’s irritation to dust, but in this very moment the combination of hurt pride, hurt feelings and sexual frustration formed a strong armor around Crowley’s resolve.

“Sorry,” he said with a casual coldness that surprised himself. “I’m very busy at the moment. Can’t say when I’ll be free again. I’ll call you.”

“Oh, alright. I guess…”

“Gotta run. Bye, angel.”

It was not easy. Crowley was sure he tortured himself at least as much as Aziraphale, if not more.

On Monday he managed to sabotage the fusion of two large bank institutes by breaking the air conditioning in the conference room and all the coffee machines nearby. Since it had almost been a done deal, that caused huge chaos at the stock market (and saved several jobs, but who cared). Satisfied Crowley came home in the evening and almost automatically grabbed his phone to brag to Aziraphale. At the last moment he remembered his plan. Sighing he put the receiver back and turned on the TV. The program was a poor substitute for Aziraphale’s soft admonishment of his evil wiles.

Tuesday he saw a group of young actors improvise in the park. The audience was allowed to give prompts and the actors had to play the scene only using Shakespeare quotes. Before Crowley knew it, his phone was in his hands to call Aziraphale since he was sure the angel would love it. Cursing he stopped himself, again at the last second. He spent the rest of the day feeling guilty because Aziraphale had missed something Crowley was sure he would have enjoyed.

He could not tell Aziraphale about the idiot driver who on Wednesday almost ran over a couple of children but thanks to Crowley’s intervention crashed into a police car instead and had no good explanation when the policemen returned with their coffee.

The picture he took on Thursday of the funny looking duck was left unappreciated since Crowley knew nobody except Aziraphale who would care about it.

On Friday however he got a little bit lucky. Bored he had hung out in Soho to be near Aziraphale. Which was not pathetic of course! He was just making sure Aziraphale was in no immediate danger from a distance. A group of young people had stumbled out of a bar and as they were having a cigarette, one handsome fellow named Marc sauntered over to Crowley. He asked him for a lighter with a charming smile, even though his friends were passing around a perfectly functional one.

“Sure,” Crowley grinned, lighting the young man’s cigarette.

They got into a light conversation, Marc’s interest in Crowley obvious and Crowley not opposed to having his ego stroked a bit. So he agreed to accompany the group to the nightclub they were heading for. On the way Marc took every chance to get as close to Crowley as possible and touch him for whatever tiny reason and as luck would have it, just as Marc once more was laughing too loud at a too bad joke made by Crowley and swung himself into the demon’s arms, a familiar figure came around the corner.

It took Aziraphale a second to recognize Crowley but when he did, his eyes widened as he observed the situation. He clearly was not happy about what he saw, but still a friendly smile formed on his face.

“Good evening, Crowley,” he said, sounding way too formal.

“Ah, yeah, hi, Aziraphale, out so late?”

“Yes, I was planning on a cup of tea and a book this evening. But I ran out of tea.”

“Well, it’s rather unlikely that you run out of books, eh?” Crowley tried to joke, but it gained him only a small twitch of lips from Aziraphale.

“Well, have fun, Crowley,” Aziraphale ended the conversation abruptly. He turned to the young people who had watched curiously and nodded, “Ladies. Gentlemen.”

With that he left.

“Weird guy,” one of the women, Carla, said. “But kinda cute.”

“That’s Mr. Fell,” a young man named Chris provided. “Owns the bookshop with the wacky business times. How you know him, Anthony?”

“We… met on the job once, became friends. In fact, he is my oldest friend.”

Crowley spoke those words somewhat guiltily and swallowed. That was good, he reminded himself. Aziraphale was meant to see that Crowley could spend time without him just fine and was supposed to miss him. Jealousy could be helpful as well. If only he knew whether Aziraphale was jealous as a friend or as a love interest.

Despite the bitter taste the encounter had left in his mouth, he went out with the group again on Saturday, making sure their nightly tour lead them along Aziraphale’s shop several times.

The next weekend he went out with them again and again. Marc did not notice that Crowley only welcomed his touches in the proximity of a certain bookshop and Crowley barely felt bad for it.

Then finally, after three weeks, it happened.

It was another Saturday, but this time Crowley had passed on going out. In fact he had not done anything today. Everything seemed kind of bland without either Aziraphale by his side or the prospect of telling him about his shenanigans soon. So Crowley was lounging on his sofa, staring at the ceiling.

His landline phone rang. Crowley just knew it would be Aziraphale and it took all his willpower not to rush to his desk and pick up. When at last the ringing stopped, he started to nervously bite his lips. Doubt crept into his mind for a second, but sure enough his mobile phone started to buzz in his pocket only moments later. Quickly Crowley snapped his fingers, filling the air with loud club music to create the illusion of being out. He struggled to keep his tone casual and nonchalant when he picked up and spoke loudly over the background sound.

“Hello, Anthony J. Crowley speaking.”

“Ah, hello, Crowley,” said the soft voice that made Crowley’s heart beat faster. “It’s me. Aziraphale.”

“Oh! Hi!” Crowley answered, with effort swallowing the affectionate “angel” that threatened to tumble out as well. “What’s up?”

“I… was wondering if we could meet,” Aziraphale said, his tone unsure, almost shy. “You see,…”

“Oh, Aziraphale, can it wait?” Crowley interrupted with a heavy heart. “I’m kinda busy.”

There was silence for a beat before Aziraphale answered, a little too cheerful.

“Oh, dear. Of course. It’s Saturday,” he piped. “I should have known better than to assume you’d be free on such short notice.”

“Ha! Yeah, you know me.”

“Well, have a nice evening, dear,” Aziraphale said. “Good bye.”

The call ended. Crowley let his phone glide back in his pocket while he pretended to not have heard the sadness and hurt vibrating in the angel’s voice. He made himself a drink and started watching TV. His thoughts drifted to Aziraphale again and again, but he could not cave now. That was the whole point. Make Aziraphale see what he had in Crowley. That he needed him. That he wanted to be near him.

And it was working, wasn’t it?

During their time on Earth it was mostly Crowley seeking Aziraphale out. The huge box Crowley kept Aziraphale’s letters in was packed, but most of them were replies _to_ Crowley. The correspondences initiated by Aziraphale could be counted with the fingers of one hand. Calls were even rarer. Crowley furrowed his brows as he tried to recall how often Aziraphale had called him. One time. No. Two times. And that was…

“Shit!” Crowley jumped from his sofa. Indeed Aziraphale had called him two times. One time when he had an idea how to find the Antichrist, the second time when he had found him. So far Aziraphale had only called him when the world was ending!

Crowley pulled his phone out again, calling Aziraphale back. In the shop nobody picked up, dialing the angel’s mobile number lead him directly to Aziraphale’s mailbox, the phone probably lying forgotten and uncharged under Aziraphale’s reading chair.

Cursing Crowley grabbed his jacket and his key, racing to the bookshop. At night London traffic was hardly any better than during the day. In fact on some nights it was worse. Not that Crowley cared for traffic. Why would he? It did not care for him either. Besides, his mind was occupied with Aziraphale.

The Bentley came to a halt in front of the bookshop and Crowley all but jumped out to race to the front door. Immediately it opened for him and he stepped in.

“Aziraphale?” No answer.

For a second images of flames and smoke and burning books flashed through Crowley’s mind. He shook them off. Not the time for this.

He searched the shop and the small flat above, but Aziraphale was not home. There was no sign of a struggle, but that was to be expected. Aziraphale had after all not been in panic as he had called. Just sad when the call had ended. Groaning Crowley rubbed his face at the thought, guilt and fear gnawing at him.

“Shit!” he cursed – the situation but mostly himself.

Aziraphale had needed his help and he had pretended to be in a club, had not even listened. And now his angel was nowhere to be found.

“Help! Yes, of course!” Crowley said excitedly to himself. Unlike him Aziraphale now and again enjoyed talking to other people. Maybe he had turned to one of them for help after Crowley had let him down.

Crowley raced to Aziraphale’s landline, thanked God (grudgingly) that the old thing had a re-dial function and used it.

“Hello, you’ve reached Jasemine Cottage and it’s very late,” sounded a sleepy male voice over the phone.

“Nerdboy?”

“My name is Newt, Mr. Crowley,” said the man. “Do you have any idea what time…”

“That’s the last number Aziraphale called,” Crowley interrupted. “What did he want?”

A sigh and the ruffling of bedsheets was audible on the other end of the line.

“Honey,” Crowley heard Newt say. “It’s your gay friend’s gay friend.”

“What? Oh, give me that,” sounded a female voice in the background and after a few second she spoke clearly, “Crowley, hi! How did it go?”

“Go? What? How did what go?”

“Erm, well, the demon?”

“What demon? I’m the only demon here.”

“Yes, but not in London apparently,” Anathema said confused.

“Bookgirl,” Crowley spoke through gritted teeth. “I have no idea what you are talking about. I need to know what Aziraphale wanted when he called you.”

“He… wanted to know if Divine power and human magic weaken each other when used in the same exorcism.”

“Exorcism?!”

“Yes, apparently someone asked him for help with a demon, haunting his house, and of course Aziraphale said yes,” Anathema explained. “I thought you were with him. He said he’d call you.”

“Anathema,” Crowley said, panic wavering in his voice and tightening his throat. “Where is this house?”


	2. Chapter 2

A scream of rage and pain escaped the creature’s maw as Aziraphale finished reciting the words to banish it. The demon slammed its body again and again against the invisible wall of the ban circle, but was unable to break it. Aziraphale had enough experience to keep a demon in check, be it with his divine power or by using the ways of the humans. Finally a dark hole appeared underneath the creature, pulling it back to Hell, its screams fading into eerie silence.

Sighing in relief, Aziraphale made his way into the kitchen. He figured the family’s gratitude would include a glass of water. He was exhausted. Capturing the creature had been easy. Demons from the domain of Wrath were powerful and not necessarily stupid, but also not known for thinking outside the box. So Aziraphale had set an obvious trap, let the demon gloat about discovering it, faked a panic attack and fled into the living room with the circle he had drawn in the same color as the floor boards. But reciting the banishing spell had taken its toll. For one it was his will against the demon’s and even bound this one had put up a fight on the spiritual plane. For two Aziraphale had found his focus dwindling now and again, his thoughts drifting to Crowley ever so often. This had made it hard to concentrate on the words. But he had managed. The family could live in peace now. Of course he could have solved matters with Holy Water, but after what he had witnessed at Crowley’s trial, he was… hesitant when it came to eradicating a being’s complete existence. It was a last resort.

After drinking his water, Aziraphale cleaned the glass and put it back, when all of a sudden he felt a rush of dizziness. It was gone as fast as it had come, but still he decided it was time to go home and rest. He was about to return to the living room when he heard the floor boards in there creak.

Had the family returned earlier than agreed on? Was it a pet he had not known about? Carefully he peeked into the darkened room and froze. The silhouette of a tall lanky figure stood out dark against the window next to the armchair in the center of the room. Before Aziraphale could think of the appropriate reaction, the stranger leant down to the desk lamp on the nearby side table, switching it on.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale’s eyes widened in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

A capturing grin spread across Crowley’s face while he removed his dark glasses with one swift move.

“Well, checking if you’re alright, of course,” he said. “Demon hunting is dangerous.”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. How did Crowley know about this? He had not mentioned what he was doing when they had spoken on the phone.

“How did you find me?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant. “I didn’t tell you what I was planning.”

“Oh, I have my ways.” Crowley waved his hands dramatically and gave Aziraphale a charming wink.

“I see,” Aziraphale smiled back carefully. “Let me guess: Shadwell couldn’t keep his mouth shut and told you that I asked for his advice.”

Chuckling and smirking Crowley tipped his index finger against his nose.

“Exactly,” he said.

Aziraphale’s stomach dropped as “Crowley” stepped into his trap. He had not talked to Shadwell in weeks; Anathema was his go to when he needed advice on human magic.

While he could not deny a certain disappointment about the fact that Crowley had not come to look for him, he had bigger problems. There was a stranger that looked like his best friend and tried to fool him. Aziraphale swallowed. Humans hardly knew anything about demons. A family haunted by demonic powers could probably not make out if they were taunted by one or two of them.

Of course Aziraphale could not be sure how strong Crowley’s doppelgänger was, but he knew that he himself was exhausted and unable to put up a fight. So he had to play along since the creature was blocking the exit as well as standing right next to the bag with his utensils.

“Oh well,” he said as happily as possible. “I banished the fiend. But I’ll appreciate a ride home.”

“Of course,” the wrong Crowley said seductively.

Aziraphale nodded with a smile.

“Just let me get my bag.” He crossed the room, trying his best to hide how uncomfortable it made him to get closer to the stranger. He felt the creature’s gaze, but managed to stay calm.

Not hasty, but also not too slow he bent down and opened the bag.

“There is the crayon, the books, the crucifix…” he listed, trying to seem absentmindedly. “I looks like I have everyth…”

His hands found the plant mister Crowley had gifted to him. Aziraphale grabbed it and wanted to swing around to point it at the impostor, but a strong large hand circled around his wrist. Before he knew what was happening, the grip tightened agonizingly and crying out in shock and pain Aziraphale let go of the bottle. It hit the ground with a thud and the stranger casually kicked it out of reach - and out of sight since it rolled under the sofa.

The wrong Crowley used his hold on Aziraphale’s wrist to pull the angel closer to him, brushing his nose against Aziraphale’s in a mockery of tenderness.

“Should have known you wouldn’t fall for this,” he said with what almost sounded like admiration. “Your mind is amazing and your will so strong. I could barely see enough inside your head to make out how the object of your desire looks. I heard of the infamous Crowley of course, but I never met him.”

“That strange feeling in the kitchen,” Aziraphale breathed out. “That was you, going through my thoughts.”

“Hmmhmm, yes,” the demon purred. “As I said, it was not easy. Do you like the result?”

“You… did… quite well,” Aziraphale whispered, pretending to lose himself in the surge of demonic magic emanating from the impostor and the golden eyes that looked so much like Crowley’s that it hurt to remind himself that they were not.

“Did I now?” the demon asked smugly, tilted his head and brought his mouth nearer to Aziraphale’s.

“Indeed…” Aziraphale allowed the creature to come a little bit closer. As their lips almost touched, he grabbed the foot of the desk lamp and slammed the heavy object against the impostor’s head.

From the demon’s reaction Aziraphale could tell that he was more surprised than in pain, but nonetheless he loosened his hold on Aziraphale’s wrist enough for the angel to pull free and run. Maybe he should have gone for the exit. Escape and return later with backup. But the thought of an incubus coming after him and running into a vulnerable human, kept him from doing so. So he rushed towards the sofa to retrieve the Holy Water. As bad luck would have it, the plant mister had rolled far deeper under the couch than he had anticipated and he struggled to reach it. As he finally got a hold of it, the fiend had already crossed the room and grabbed his upper arm.

He yanked Aziraphale to his feet with one hand, wrestling the plant mister out of Aziraphale’s grip with the other. This time he threw the bottle away, through the kitchen door, out of the room. Aziraphale tried to free himself, but was not strong enough. After a swift kick into the hollow of his knees, he lost his stance. Easily the demon brought him to the floor, pinning both wrists with one large hand, the other pressing down hard on the angel’s chest.

The incubus held Aziraphale in place and grinned broadly. His face was close to Aziraphale’s and his breath rushed hot over the angel’s skin.

“Oh, breaking you isn’t going to be easy,” he chuckled darkly. “But I was never one to shy away from a challenge. And I have time.”

Aziraphale swallowed. That was true. He had told the family not to return until he notified them and also warned them that it might take a few days to get rid of the demon. Nobody would break down the door for a while. Not even Crowley… For a second sadness mingled with his fear when he wondered if he would ever see his best friend again and how long it would take for Crowley to even miss him. He saw the swift move of the incubus’ right hand in his periphery before it connected painfully with his head.

The world went dark.

*

When he slowly regained consciousness, he heard shuffling nearby. Someone hummed a melody. Somebody touched him. A while he spent in a hazy state, falling in and out of consciousness. But finally the pain in his jaw and wrists pulled him out of it.

Aziraphale found himself lying on the bed in the master bedroom, hands tied to the headboard. The lights were dimmed, but he could make out the dark wooden furniture and the cream-colored curtain. He looked up and spotted a familiar figure.

For the blink of an eye he was delighted. Over the millennia his body had been conditioned to feel a rush of giddy excitement whenever he saw Crowley. But then Aziraphale remembered his current situation and the fact that the man at the foot of the bed was not Crowley, but a hellish creature of lust. It was then that he noticed that he was lying in front of said creature stark naked. Panic arose in him, but he calmed himself a bit as he saw that the demon himself was still fully dressed.

It did not surprise Aziraphale that his power failed him as he tried to will away his restraints. And as he saw the demon saunter along the bed, swirling a piece of crayon in his hand with a triumphant smirk, he knew why.

“Circles to bind angels and demons are remarkably similar,” the incubus said conversationally. “Did you know that, Aziraphale?”

“Of course I know that,” Aziraphale said primly. “I’m an expert in the supernatural.”

“Of course you are. I apologize, Mr. Expert,” chuckled the demon. “I do have to say I am impressed how you dealt with Corak. In fact, I should thank you. I was here first, you know? But that arrogant bastard waltzes in here, declares this family his now and binds me when I object.”

“How rude,” Aziraphale said sarcastically. “I’m sure _you_ would never do that.”

“Touché,” the incubus chuckled. “But you have to admit there is a difference between binding someone from the other team and binding one of your kin. The latter is against the rules.”

“If it is against the rules…” Aziraphale inquired but was interrupted.

“Well, thanks to you and your boyfriend, Beelzebub’s position is weakened,” the demon sighed. “Not everyone respects her or her rules as much as before.”

With furrowed brows Aziraphale reflected on this. On the one hand it was good that Hell was in chaos since infighting meant they had no time to come for Crowley, one the other hand a weaker Hell could mean a stronger Heaven and any imbalance could pose a problem for Earth.

“Anyway, enough of Infernal politics,” said the demon. “Banishing Corak freed me and I owe you. Want nobody to say good old Onyx is ungrateful.”

“Sooo,” Aziraphale said doubtfully. “You are letting me go?”

Onyx laughed.

“Oh, I can’t do _that_ ,” he grinned, letting his eyes wander over Aziraphale’s naked body. “You look too delicious. I could eat you up, you know that? I never had an angel.”

A not too small part of Aziraphale liked being watched with so much want and hunger by Crowley’s eyes. Even the leering flick of the forked tongue would have been a compliment for him had he not known that it was not his best friend desiring him, but an evil impostor.

“Then how exactly did ‘good old Onyx’ plan on showing his gratitude if not by letting me go?” he asked cynically. “A gift basket?”

Again Onyx chuckled.

“Oh, Iike you,” he purred. “But no, no gift basket.”

To no avail Aziraphale tried squirming away from the touch when the demon’s hand began to slide over his chest, the curve of his belly and towards his manhood. The incubus chuckled at the futile attempts to escape, but stopped short before actually touching Aziraphale’s penis.

“I can make it good for you. This doesn’t have to be messy, violent and painful,” Onyx said lowly before adding way too cheerful, “Though it certainly can be. Your call.”

With narrowed eyes Aziraphale met the demon’s gaze. Despite the grim situation, a small smug smile tugged at his lips.

“Forget it, fiend,” he said haughtily. “I know that you can drain way more power from a victim that is willing and consenting than from rape. And now that you have your claws on an angel you probably don’t want to let anything go to waste, do you? You want me to ask you to take me, but that won’t happen.”

For a moment the confident smirk on the wrong Crowley’s face faltered, but came back soon.

“Feisty, clever and snarky,” he purred. “But I hold all the aces, sweetheart. I have the ways to find your weaknesses and the time to do so. I will break you and you will beg me to fuck you.”

“I disagree, dear, no offense,” Aziraphale smiled. “Didn’t you say you had trouble reading my mind?”

“I did,” the demon grinned. “But now you are weaker, more fearful and closer to me. Plus, I can take my time and try different things. And as I said: I like a challenge. Let’s begin, shall we?”

The question of course was a rhetorical one and as soon as the words had left his mouth, the incubus grabbed Aziraphale’s face and let his magic work. The angel’s active powers were blocked by the circle, but he could still feel the invisible demonic tendrils make their way into his mind. He fought it. Of course he did and he put up a good fight. Onyx’ anger and impatience weaved into the powers he was wielding.

But Aziraphale was caught in a ban circle, he had fought a powerful demon of rage maybe two hours ago, he was heartbroken and exhausted. It was only a matter of time until Onyx would be able to draw information out of him.

Suddenly the hands grabbing his cheeks disappeared and Aziraphale opened his eyes, until now unaware that he had closed them.

Surprised he stared at Onyx. The incubus still looked like Crowley, but now the flaming red hair fell on his shoulders in long unruly curls.

“You never forgot our first meeting, did you, angel?” Onyx asked in Crowley’s softest voice while tenderly stroking Aziraphale’s jaw. “High on the walls of Eden. You did not trust me, but I was the only comfort you had.”

Aziraphale did not want to dignify the demon’s taunts with any kind of response and turned away, but his chin was grabbed and “Crowley” forced him to meet his gaze.

“Don’t be like that, angel,” he pleaded. “Don’t you remember how I eased your mind about your sword? How I comforted you after the flood? How I held you when you cried for the messiah?”

“That wasn’t you,” Aziraphale said defiantly.

“Jerusalem was the turning point, wasn’t it?” the incubus continued, ignoring Aziraphale’s interruption. “You could no longer see me as an enemy. Actually, you wished I’d hold you a little longer. But you didn't dare ask.”

“Shut up.”

“When you finally were sure that my kindness was not an act, you fell for me. Only a little bit at first. But more and more with every word, every smile and every heroic act.”

“I…”

“You couldn’t ask, couldn’t offer,” Onyx whispered, tangling his fingers in Aziraphale’s hair, “so you wished, I would just take,” he almost gently pulled at the blonde curls, baring his captive’s throat, nipping at the sensitive skin, “sink my teeth in.”

His fangs scraped along Aziraphale’s neck, sending an unwanted yet pleasant shiver through the angel’s body. When Onyx bit down, Aziraphale cried out and against his will his hips swayed against his captor’s. Triumphantly the demon started to suck a mark into the white skin of Aziraphale’s throat.

Onyx took advantage of Aziraphale being distracted and invaded his mind again, deeper this time. Again the angel’s eyes fluttered shut. Taken by surprise this time, he was unable to fight the pleasure that came with the touch and the intrusion. Unwillingly he moaned while Onyx drank in his secrets.

“Oh, angel,” sounded the stolen voice again. “You’ve loved me for so long. But when I saved your books, you could no longer deny it.”

Crowley’s doppelgänger now wore his hair short again, elegantly styled like back in the 1940s when Crowley had come to Aziraphale’s aid.

“Please stop,” sobbed Aziraphale but was ignored.

“I could have taken you then and there, right in the burning ruins of the church,” the demon said. “You would have let me, would have given me everything… had I asked,” he paused for a moment, kissing Aziraphale’s throat again, “but I didn’t ask.”

“Please…”

“I’m asking now, angel.”

Aziraphale’s thoughts raced, his body was shivering with desire, his cock was half-hard and his heart craved Crowley’s touch and love. The seductive voice of the incubus promised what he wanted. It took all his willpower to remind himself that this was a lie.

“N…no,” Aziraphale pressed out. “You… you’re not him. You’re not who I want.”

A flicker of irritation crossed over “Crowley’s” face. Onyx tried to hide it, to appear calm, relaxed and smug, but Aziraphale could feel him becoming angry. The next surge of demonic power into Aziraphale’s mind carried this anger and this time the intrusion hurt. The mixture of pleasure and pain forced a scream out of Aziraphale and the angel could feel Onyx’ satisfaction at that.

When Onyx let go this time, he looked like Crowley as he had looked at the airbase when he had stopped time to save the humans and Aziraphale: hair slightly disheveled but beautiful nonetheless, eyes burning with determination and his whole body vibrating with demonic power. He cupped Aziraphale’s cheeks tenderly.

“You’re right. I’m not him,” he admitted. “But you want me to be him. You are still hoping for him to come to your rescue.”

With tears in his eyes Aziraphale tried to turn away once more, but again Onyx would not let him.

“He won’t come though, will he?” he asked with fake sympathy. “You didn’t tell him where you go. Not that he would have cared anyway, right?”

Aziraphale answered with a sob and Onyx carried on without mercy.

“He won’t come for you, angel,” he said. “He is busy fucking a handsome lad in a dark corner of a shady nightclub in Soho, isn’t he? Or maybe he takes him home? Lays him down gently on his soft bed? Or will he do him in the backseat of his beloved car like you always dreamed he would do with you?”

By now Aziraphale was crying. His captor shushed him and licked his tears away.

“So no,” he finally said. “I’m not Crowley, but I can be. For you. A Crowley that is here for you. That wants you. Don’t worry. I will not kill you. I will savor you. Just take what I need from you, but never too much. I will keep you. You’ll be my sweet little toy and I will be your Crowley. Just ask, angel. Tell me you want me.”

The demon’s long elegant fingers danced over Aziraphale’s sensitive skin, drawing circles on his chest and belly, wandering lower, stroking along the traitorous erection and finally spreading his butt cheeks.

“Just ask, Aziraphale,” Onyx whispered, carefully circling around Aziraphale’s puckered entrance.

“I…”

“Say the word, angel.”

With tear-filled eyes Aziraphale gazed at the demon. He cast him a pleading look and tilted his head. Smiling Onyx leant down and brushed his lips against Aziraphale’s.

“Will you say the word?” he purred.

“I will.”

“Let’s hear it then. Can I have you?” Onyx asked.

Their noses were touching, their mouths almost. The angel smiled dreamily at him.

“No!” Aziraphale surged forward and bit into his captor’s lips. He spat out the blood he had drawn while Onyx pulled back with a scream of rage and pain.

“You’re not Crowley!” Aziraphale yelled at him. “And you will never be half his worth. It’s insulting that you even think you could be any kind of substitute for him.”

Dangerously calm Onyx touched his bitten lip with his fingertips, tilting his head as he contemplated the blood. With a casual gestured he swiped across his mouth, healing the wound. He turned to Aziraphale and showed his teeth, but not in a smile.

Lightning fast his right hand circled around Aziraphale’s throat, his left dug into the soft flesh of the angel’s hips and his eyes, glowing in the room’s half-light, promised retaliation.

“You will regret this, you little whore,” he hissed. “You will regret this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I name the evil incubus like the evil incubus in "Whatever you need"? Yes, I did because I'm lazy and it fits. "Whatever you need"-Onyx is an ass and so is this Onyx. Let's just say it's the same dude in a different GO universe. ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, chapter numbers went up. Once again, I underestimated the amount of words my brain wants to say. ;)

The door was locked, but that did not stop Crowley. Nothing would stop him. The moment he had walked up to the house, his instincts had begun to tingle. He had a bad feeling about this place and Aziraphale was in there, Crowley could sense him.

Silently Crowley passed the small entrance area and entered the living room. Immediately he spotted a small burn hole on the floor. Upon a closer look he saw that in a color similar to the floor’s a ban circle had been drawn. Crowley smirked for a second. His clever angel had tricked the creature haunting this place and the dark spot in the middle of the circle suggested that the exorcism had been successful. Yet, there was no denying the demonic presence Crowley still felt in this house. Maybe it was just an echo, but he would be careful.

Thanks to the burn hole, the ban circle no longer posed a threat to demons and Crowley walked right through it to enter the adjoining kitchen. The light was turned on, but nobody was here. Crowley was just about to turn around and leave when his eyes fell on something green next to the garbage can. His eyes grew wide as he recognized the plant mister with the Holy Water he had gifted Aziraphale with. He bent down to carefully examine the bottle. As he found that there was no damage to it, he picked it up. Something was wrong here and it could not hurt to be armed as long as he did not forget that the stuff could hurt him, too.

Crowley returned to the living room and closed his eyes. He wanted to focus on Aziraphale’s signature in order to find him. But just as he had begun, he heard a cry of pain.

There was no doubt that this was Aziraphale’s voice. Rage and fear bubbled up in Crowley; rage at whoever was hurting his angel, fear of whatever was being done to Aziraphale. The scream had sounded from the upper level and so Crowley returned to the entrance area where he had seen a stairway.

As fast as stealth allowed he made his way up and found himself in a corridor with three doors, two closed, one ajar. Another sound, this time a pained moan, told him it was behind the latter where he would find what he was looking for.

Sneaking closer, Crowley felt the demonic presence more and more. To his dismay he could also sense Aziraphale behind the same door.

“You know, sweetheart,” a cold male voice came from the room. “I really didn’t want it to end this way.”

A small whimper came as a reaction and Crowley’s stomach dropped. Aziraphale!

“As you said,” the other voice continued. “I gain more if you are willing. But it’s not that I get nothing, if you are not.”

Crowley was close enough to understand Aziraphale’s answer even though his voice was small.

“So… you admit defeat?” he asked, weak but smug. “No shame in that, dear.”

If not for the circumstances, Crowley would have laughed. That was so his angel. But as soon as Aziraphale had spoken, a growl sounded from the room in front of him and someone or something moved very fast.

“Shut up, whore!” the stranger demanded. “I’m tired of this game. You’re not giving in? Fine. I’ll still keep you for all eternity. And if I have to take you by force…”

Whatever else the cold voice had to say, was lost when Crowley rushed against the door, pushing it fully open, storming into the room.

The scene before him made his blood boil. Aziraphale was tied naked to a double bed, angry red scratches and welts marking his ivory skin, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He was breathing heavily and watched his captor tiredly through half-lidded eyes.

Said captor, also stark naked, stood beside the bed and had just wanted to climb on it. He was easily identified as an incubus by his posture, his smell and – last but not least – by the unnaturally huge erect penis. He was of tall and muscular build, his moon white skin stood in stark contrast to his long ebony hair and his features were astonishingly handsome - in an eerie inhuman way. Of course Crowley could not know how the incubus looked for Aziraphale, but whatever illusion he had chosen, it had not been enough to fool or break Aziraphale.

Crowley did not have much time to think. Aziraphale’s captor was not happy about the interruption. With eyes wide in surprise – and a small knowing smile on his face – he charged at Crowley. His smug expression disappeared when Crowley produced the plant mister. The incubus tried to dodge but he was too close to Crowley already. Without hesitation Crowley pressed his finger against the trigger, sending a fine dust of Holy Water against the other demon.

Unpleasant memories of Ligur’s death came back as the incubus’ scream echoed through the house. Fortunately it was faster this time. The plant mister had spread enough Holy Water to engulf the incubus’ whole body so it dissolved at a higher pace than Ligur had.

Crowley threw the bottle aside. Careful as not to step in the puddle of Holy Water and demonic residue, he rushed to the bed. With a swift move of his feet he destroyed the circle that bound Aziraphale and removed the restraints. Aziraphale’s eyes had fallen shut and he seemed delirious, but the sudden freedom of his hands got his attention.

He gazed at Crowley, visibly struggling to keep his eyes open, and sobbed.

“Crowley? Is this really you?”

“Yes, angel, it’s me. You’re safe now!” Quickly Crowley took off his leather jacket and then helped Aziraphale to his feet.

Crowley slung his jacket around Aziraphale’s naked body. Miraculously it was wide enough to fit and long enough to cover not only the angel’s upper body but also his butt.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale repeated. “Crowley, Crowley…”

Crowley shushed him, “It’s alright, Aziraphale. I’m here.”

“I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Yeah, not a chance, angel,” Crowley said softly. “You’re stuck with me. Our side, remember?”

“Our side,” repeated Aziraphale and collapsed in Crowley’s arms.

*

When Aziraphale next regained consciousness, he was warm and comfortable. Soft silken sheets were under him and a thick blanket covered him. Happily he sighed and almost drifted back to sleep. But then the memories returned and he abruptly sat up.

He knew this place. It was a large luxurious bedroom, decorated and furnished mostly in red and black. But thanks to the light falling through the large panorama window the dark colors did not create an oppressive atmosphere but an air of elegance.

This was Crowley’s bedroom. Aziraphale blushed when he realized that this meant he was in Crowley’s bed.

Was this real? He vaguely recalled Onyx, the wrong Crowley, getting fed up with him and someone bursting in. That had been when he had lost consciousness. Then… yes, he recalled being freed and seeing Crowley.

Had this been real? Maybe the whole ordeal with the incubus only had been a bad dream? He peeked under the black pajamas he wore to find several bruises littered across his skin. No, definitely real.

Was this the dream and he was still in the monster’s clutches?

It felt real and his powers seemed to be back, even if still weakened. But maybe it was a trick? To make him feel safe? So that he would let his guard down?

He eyed his surroundings suspiciously. He prided himself in having a good memory and an eye for details so he looked around, looking for anything out of place. He had only spent one night and one morning in Crowley’s bedroom. But he had reveled in it back then, catalogued everything to memory. So far everything was the same, even in the adjacent bathroom. Maybe this was real, maybe he was safe.

But under Onyx’ hold it had seemed so unlikely to ever be safe again…

Through the walls Aziraphale heard a familiar voice. Quietly he rushed to the door, opened it as carefully as he could and peeked down the corridor. He could see right into Crowley’s atrium.

Speaking on the phone, Crowley walked up and down the room. Aziraphale was not sure who he talked to, but it was about him.

“Actually, it would be good if you could check. I didn’t feel anymore demonic presences, but then again, I was focused on Aziraphale and getting him out of there.”

“He is safe.”

“Sleeping.”

“As best as I could, but I’m a demon. Healing is not my strong suit.”

“With me.”

“No, he stays with me ‘til he’s better.”

“I don’t care. It’s not that he wants to sell books badly.”

“I will and…” Crowley turned around and spotted Aziraphale in the corridor, “ah, shit!” he cursed, “Bookgirl, I’ll call you back.”

With that he ended the call and rushed towards Aziraphale.

“Shit,” he repeated. “Oh, angel, I’m so sorry. I thought you’d be out longer. I didn’t mean for you to wake up alone.”

“It’s alright, I…”

“No, it’s not,” Crowley insisted and ushered Aziraphale back to the bedroom. “I was about to get you tea and some breakfast when Anathema called. Would you like scones?”

“Anathema?”

Crowley explained, “Last night I was looking for you in your shop. When I couldn’t find you, I used your phone’s re-dial function.”

“That’s how you knew where I was.”

“Yeah, she had thought I was with you until I called,” Crowley sighed. “Learning that you went alone and were now missing…”

Aziraphale hummed in understanding. He felt bad that he had his friends worried, but right now he was busy sorting his thoughts.

What Crowley said made sense and added up. Aziraphale had asked for Anathema’s help and he had told her that he would ask Crowley along. But he had not let her know that Crowley had been busy. That was a good sign. Then again, maybe Onyx had drawn the information out of him by now.

Crowley looked right, smelled right and – more importantly – he felt right. Onyx had done a good job in appearance, scent and attitude, still it had felt a bit… off the entire time. But maybe Onyx just had gotten better at imitating Crowley.

He had to know. It was risky of course, but he could no longer stand the uncertainty. When Crowley carefully but resolutely wrestled him back down on the bed, Aziraphale grabbed his shirt and pulled him with him, pressing a kiss against his lips.

Crowley made an adorable noise when their mouths met and started flailing with his arms in a futile attempt to keep his balance. With an “oomph” he landed on Aziraphale’s stomach.

“Angel, what…?” Crowley asked muffled against Aziraphale’s lips.

“Fuck me, Crowley!” Aziraphale begged.

“What?” Crowley repeated.

“Fuck me,” Aziraphale said again. “Take me as yours.”

It was a dangerous game. Aziraphale knew. If this was Crowley, he would be rejected. Crowley did not want him. So if he was pushed away, he could be sure that this was real. If this was the incubus, however, Aziraphale had just given him the permission he needed. He would take Aziraphale, steal his powers, keep him barely alive and drag him to Hell to repeat the process for all eternity. Or until he got bored.

But what did it matter? If Crowley had not come for him by now, he wouldn’t come. At least not in time. So why not get it over with?

*

“Fuck me,” Aziraphale told him again, louder this time. “Take me as yours.”

Okay, so he had not misheard. It was no trick of his demonic libido to make him molest an angel. Good to know.

Again Aziraphale’s mouth crashed on his. More insistent even.

And oh, it was tempting. Aziraphale’s lips moved sensually against his, trying to part them. Only half a day ago it would have been a dream come true to have Aziraphale pliantly beneath him, kissing him and begging for his cock.

But it was different now. Crowley could and would not take advantage of his best friend who had just experienced what was most likely the worst night of his life. Right now he did not even know what exactly the bastard had done to Aziraphale. For all Crowley knew this behavior was nothing but a very unhealthy coping mechanism.

So he broke the kiss.

“I appreciate the offer”, he smiled while said appreciation strained against his pants. “But this is a bad idea.”

Tenderly he grabbed Aziraphale’s shoulder and pushed him to the mattress. He smiled down at him.

“You don’t want to?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley swallowed hard. Of course he wanted. There were no words to express how much.

“No,” he lied. “You’ve been through a lot. You should rest.”

For long seconds Aziraphale stared at him. Then he blinked and pushed himself up. His arms wrapped around Crowley’s neck, he buried his face in the demon’s chest and started to cry.

“It’s really you,” he sobbed. “This is real. I’m safe.”

Confused and concerned Crowley returned the embrace, awkwardly patting Aziraphale’s back. He frowned until realization dawned.

“Oh, angel,” he said, holding Aziraphale tighter. “You weren’t sure if…”

Aziraphale nodded against Crowley’s bony chest, sniffling, but calming down slowly. He pulled away and wiped his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I must seem terribly ungrateful to you. You come to save me and I don’t trust you. But I lost consciousness so often while Onyx tortured me. I couldn’t know for sure everything I saw and heard was real.”

“Don’t apologize,” Crowley said, harsher than intended, cursing himself when Aziraphale flinched. “I mean, this isn’t your fault. It’s mine. I should have been there with you.”

“You couldn’t know, dear,“ Aziraphale smiled sadly.

Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand.

“I should have asked,” he said guiltily. “To think that you had to face this bastard, Onyx you said, all alone…”

He fell silent. What could he say that would make up for him being so incredibly petty and stupid?

“Did you kill him?” Aziraphale asked after a while. “Onyx, I mean.”

“Yes,” Crowley answered. “Used the Holy Water on him. Sorry, angel, I know you don’t like doing this, but it was the only weapon I had at hand and after I saw what he…”

“No, it’s alright,” Aziraphale interrupted. “It’s better that way. He was in my mind. I buried our secret deep down as soon as I understood what he was, but I can’t know for sure what he saw.”

Grimly Crowley nodded. Even the tiniest chance that word of the bodyswap would make it into Hell had to be squashed immediately.

His gaze fell on Aziraphale again. He seemed deep in thought, staring at nothing. Crowley put on a smile.

“So, what about tea and scones?” he asked as lightly as he could muster.

“Oh, I’m not very hungry,” Aziraphale said. “But if you don’t mind, I’ll help myself to some tea.”

He shuffled on the bed and was about to get up, but Crowley stopped him.

“I do mind, angel,” he said strictly. “You rest, I’ll get tea.”

“But…”

“You rest, I’ll get tea,“ Crowley repeated. “Understood?”

“Understood,” Aziraphale smiled weakly.

Crowley watched as his angel lay back on the mattress and reached for the blanket. He fought down the urge to tuck him in and press a kiss on his lips.

The following day Aziraphale appeared to be fine. After some weak protests he allowed Crowley to take care of him. He was not yet in the mood for eating but obediently drank his tea. He solved all the sudukos in the newsapers Crowley had collected over the years, re-organised the bookshelf and learned how to use Crowley’s espresso machine[1]. In the afternoon and evening he even enjoyed watching TV with Crowley.

After sunset though it was different. Crowley awoke to Aziraphale prowling through his flat. Yawning, he left the guest room and checked on his friend. He knew of course that it was not unusual for Aziraphale not to sleep in the night. But being his oldest friend, he knew that this meant spending the night peacefully with a cup of tea or hot cocoa and several books. Now however, Aziraphale seemed restless.

From the atrium, unnoticed by Aziraphale, Crowley watched him in the office room. He was contemplating Crowley’s small collection of books, now and then picked one, sat down in Crowley’s throne and started reading. But always he sighed after a while and put the book back. After watching this a few times, Crowley cleared his throat.

Startled Aziraphale turned around, but smiled as he spotted Crowley. He looked tired, the deep blue eyes a bit hazy and without their usual sparkle.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Crowley said.

“It’s alright.” Aziraphale waved dismissively. “Sorry, did I wake you up?”

“No problem, not your fault, I’m just used to a quiet apartment.”

At that a strange expression rushed over Aziraphale’s face but disappeared quickly.

“Anyway, if you don’t like my books,” Crowley said quickly. “I can hop over to your shop and get a few of…”

“No, please don’t leave!” Aziraphale burst out, taking a few panicked steps towards Crowley before remembering himself and coming to a halt.

“Hey, hey, okay,” Crowley soothed. “Just an idea. We can go together tomorrow if you like.”

“M…maybe.” Embarrassed Aziraphale looked down at his hands. “Forgive me, I’m a bit…”

“Tired?”

“Nervous.”

“You should sleep, angel,” Crowley said softly. “You look exhausted.”

“You know I don’t sleep.”

“This is different,” Crowley insisted. “You were all powered out and then…,“ he hesitated; they had yet to talk about what exactly Onyx did,” then you were… attacked which drained you further. You need rest.”

“I can’t,” Aziraphale said in a small voice.

“What do you mean?”

“Sleep. I tried,” Aziraphale sighed. “When I close my eyes and try to clear my mind like you taught me, I’m back in that room again… with him.”

Rage bubbled up in Crowley again. Every reminder of the monster that had dared to touch Aziraphale had this effect. Realizing that even after dying Onyx could torture Aziraphale though, made his blood almost boil over. But Aziraphale did not need his wrath, he needed his empathy. That was nothing Crowley was particularly good at, but for Aziraphale he would try.

He smiled.

“What do you need?” he asked.

Aziraphale hesitated. He opened his mouth but then closed it again. Wringing his hands, he turned his head sideways and bit his lips.

“Angel?”

“I… cannot think of anything that would help.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Crowley said patiently but strictly. “You did think of something and didn’t say. What?”

“I… no, it’s silly.”

“Silly is a specialty of mine,” Crowley smirked and was rewarded with a small but amused smile. “Try me.”

“Well, I thought. I wanted to ask… Would you lie with me?” Aziraphale said.

Of course Crowley knew that Aziraphale meant this in an innocent “please keep me company” way. Still the request punched the air out of Crowley’s lungs and for a long moment he only stared. Too long. Aziraphale flinched and his cheeks turned bright red.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I said it’s silly. I’m over 6000 years old, I should be able to…”

“No, no, no,” Crowley hurried to say. “I can do that. Of course. Just surprised me that you would want that, is all. But yes, let’s go.”

“Really?” Aziraphale seemed genuinely surprised. “I thought you would… well, if you’re sure.”

“Absolutely. Come on.”

Carefully Crowley put his arms around Aziraphale and led him back to the bedroom. He steadied his breath and tried wrapping his head around it.

He was leading Aziraphale to his bedroom and would take him to bed, unfortunately in a completely different context than he had always hoped and dreamed. Unbidden all his dirty fantasies came to mind. All the images of things he had pictured doing to Aziraphale when, no _if_ someday the sweet angel would find his way into his bed. Angry with himself he pushed the thoughts aside. Aziraphale needed comfort and protection now, not another horny demon disguising as his best friend.

It was a little awkward how they got under the blanket together, Crowley trying to wrap his arm around Aziraphale in a way that was protective but not invading. But when they had a found a comfortable position, it felt naturally for Crowley to have Aziraphale in his arms. It was almost painful how right it was and yet so tainted by what had happened to Aziraphale.

Together they lay in the darkness, not making a sound. Crowley could sense that Aziraphale was still awake and there was no way he would sleep now before the angel did. Part of him was afraid to sleep at all, scared to inappropriately touch Aziraphale when unaware. He cleared his throat to gain Aziraphale’s attention.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” he asked.

“What exactly?”

“What he did to you.”

“Do you want to know?”

Crowley thought about that for a moment then he said genuinely, “Yes, I want to know. I really do, but this isn’t about me, Aziraphale. If you think sharing helps, share. If you’d rather not, don’t.”

“Ask me,” Aziraphale shifted nervously in the bed, “ask me what you want to know. Maybe it’s easier that way.”

Crowley nodded.

“Okay,” he said calmer than he felt.

He was scared to make a mistake, ask the wrong question – or the right one.

“When did he appear?” Crowley decided to start with an easy question, a mere fact.

“Half an hour before midnight, I think?” Aziraphale answered. “After I had defeated the other demon. Apparently that one had subdued him.”

Crowley suppressed a moan of frustration. Again he was reminded that had he not been such an idiot, he could have prevented this. It had been 23:41 on that fateful night when he had realized that Aziraphale only called him when the stakes were high. Had he been a bit faster…

“Crowley?”

“Oh, right. Did he attack you immediately?”

“No, he appeared in the living room. He took the shape of… someone else to deceive me,” Aziraphale explained. “I pretended to fall for it to get to the Holy Water.”

Selfish jealousy spread in Crowley as he speculated about the person whose face the incubus had worn after looking at Aziraphale’s thoughts.

“It didn’t work?” he asked as casually as he could.

“No, apparently I wasn’t very convincing,” Aziraphale laughed bitterly. “We fought, he got the upper hand and he knocked me out. When I woke, he tried to get me to consent to sex.”

“How?”

“Again by pretending to be someone he was not.”

“But you resisted?”

“I did,” Aziraphale sighed. “For all the good it has done. At one point he lost his patience with me.”

Drawing in a sharp breath, Crowley braced himself and hoped Aziraphale was braced as well.

“Did he rape you, angel?” he asked barely above a whisper.

There was a horrifying pause and Crowley began to fear he had gone too far, but then Aziraphale spoke.

“Technically he did not,” he said. “He touched me, in very private areas. He hit me, scratched and bit me, but he did not… penetrate me – if that is what you are asking.”

Crowley did not know what to say. It was what he was asking and it was a relief to hear, but still Onyx had molested and abused Aziraphale.

“I think he was about to though,” Aziraphale added quietly. “But you saved me. Thank you!”

These words were spoken with so much gratitude, tenderness and adoration that under normal circumstances Crowley would have burst with pride and joy. Now he just felt shame for accepting undeserved praise. He had merely solved a problem that only had occurred due to his fault.

But Aziraphale snuggled closer against Crowley’s chest and even repeated the appreciation.

“I’ll try sleeping now,” he announced. “Thanks again. Good night.”

“Good night, angel,” Crowley gave back.

Sighing he turned his gaze to the large window and looked at the nightly sky as he often does, admiring the stars. But tonight there was no comfort in their beauty.

He did not sleep that night. He kept watch and ward.

[1] The latter upset Crowley a bit. He had influenced the designer personally to make it especially complicated and hard to use so that people would get frustrated before their morning coffee and take it out on their family and co-workers. But Aziraphale learned how to handle it in ten minutes. He read the manual. Cheat.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the final chapter of "Cold Shoulder". I hope you guys like the ending. :)

Sighing Aziraphale stood in front of the bathroom mirror and let his eyes wander over his naked body. The bruises and wounds were fading slowly. In the beginning they had stood angry red and purple against his white skin, now they were pale and barely visible, except for a prominent bite mark at his throat. Aziraphale was sure Onyx had used some demonic venom when inflicting this wound, slowing the healing process despite Aziraphale’s angelic nature.

He could of course use his own restored powers to remove the remaining traces of Onyx’ attack, but somehow he could not bring himself to do it. For one, it would not hurt to have a reminder of what his carelessness had led to. For two, Crowley had done his best to heal the injuries and for a demon had shown remarkable talent for it. He must have stopped the bleeding and no wound seemed to scar. Using angelic power to finish the job felt ungrateful.

Aziraphale gave his reflection a sad smile at the thought of Crowley. His best friend had taken such good care of him. Not only did he let him live here and provided food and drink, he did also keep Aziraphale company almost all the time. He sat with him when Aziraphale was reading, watched the TV programs Aziraphale liked with him, had helped him get some of his books here and even held him in the night. Especially the thought of the latter painted Aziraphale’s cheeks in red, even though nothing of any sexual nature happened. Yet it seemed incredible intimate, falling asleep next to each other. Aziraphale felt safe and protected in Crowley’s arms.

Yet it had to end now.

Rigorously Aziraphale shook himself out of his nostalgic thoughts. He went back to the bedroom and opened the closet where Crowley had neatly hung an exact copy of Aziraphale’s clothes Onyx had destroyed. Usually Aziraphale preferred his attire tailored by human hand. But seeing how much care Crowley had put in creating an exact duplicate of what was lost, he was sure that this would forever be his favorite set of clothing.

His heart ached with his love for Crowley and part of him had considered staying longer, but he knew that he would take advantage of his best friend’s loyalty and – even worse – of the unjustified guilt Crowley felt. Aziraphale had been selfish long enough. Surely Crowley wanted his exciting life with parties, friends and lovers back. He did not need his boring angel friend in his apartment, keeping him from enjoying his freedom from Hell’s grip.

So Aziraphale dressed himself quickly after one last longing look around the demon’s bedroom. While he checked his appearance in the mirror, the door opened and Crowley stepped in. He carried a tray with tea and sandwiches. Surprised he looked at Aziraphale.

“Good morning, angel,” he said. “In the mood for a walk, I see?”

Aziraphale smiled at him.

“Not really, dear.”

“Shopping then? Out of books, are we?” Crowley grinned.

“I’m going home, Crowley,” Aziraphale told him.

“Oh? I thought we got everything you needed last time we…,”

“I mean permanently,” Aziraphale said. “I have been here for a whole week now. My wounds are almost healed and I need to go back to my shop.”

Crowley put down the tray and stepped closer. He hid his hands in his pocket, pulled his shoulders up and avoided Aziraphale’s gaze.

“I could come with you,” he said. “Keep you company. And after closing time, you come back here with me. Just in case you need something.”

“That is very kind of you,” Aziraphale said, smiling at the scoff it earned him. “But I fear I’m overstaying my welcome. If I wear off your hospitality any longer, you’ll never want to see me again.”

“Never!” Crowley exclaimed immediately and way too serious, compared to Aziraphale’s light tone. “You can stay as long as you like, I…”

Crowley was almost panicking now, gesturing wildly with his hands. Quickly Aziraphale caught them in his and pulled them against his chest. Wide eyed Crowley fell silent at once and stared at Aziraphale.

“Listen, Crowley, I know why you are doing this,” Aziraphale said. “But you have no reason to feel guilty. I didn’t tell you what I was going to do, was stupid enough to go alone and get myself caught.”

“I should have been there for you, angel,” Crowley insisted.

“Crowley, you were out on a Saturday night, that’s hardly a crime,” Aziraphale said. “And neither is not dropping any plans on a last minute call. You did nothing remotely wrong.”

Again Crowley turned his eyes away, but his grip got tighter. There was an inscrutable expression on his handsome features and it seemed he wanted to say something but in the end did not dare.

“You can stay as long as you like,” he repeated quietly instead.

“Oh, Crowley, I’m sure you have better things to do than babysit an angel,” Aziraphale laughed. “Not even to speak of the fact that your young man probably would not react too kindly to another man living in your flat and sleeping in your bed. What even did you tell him? He must miss you terribly.”

Almost comically fast Crowley snapped his head back to look at Aziraphale again.

“Who?!” he asked.

*

“Not even to speak of the fact that your young man probably would not react too kindly to another man living in your flat and sleeping in your bed. What even did you tell him? He must miss you terribly.”

Crowley’s head snapped up so fast, he actually got dizzy from the movement. What was Aziraphale talking about? Did he have a concussion they both had missed?

“Who?!” Crowley wanted to know.

Confused Aziraphale let go of Crowley’s hands, having him miss the warmth immediately.

“Your young man,“ he repeated. “I saw the two of you go out with your friends several times.”

“Okay, first of all, we people of this century say ‘boyfriend’, Aziraphale,” Crowley said exasperated. “And secondly that is not what Marc is. He is…”

Here he stopped himself. The ugly truth lifted its head: _He is the poor sod I chose to deliberately hurt your feelings to make you come crawling to me._

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked after Crowley had been quiet for some time.

Crowley took a deep breath. He had to tell Aziraphale. Make him understand that all this was his fault and then maybe Aziraphale would allow him to take care of him.

“Aziraphale, I wasn’t out the night you called me,” he said. “You thought I was, but I was home.”

“Al… alright,” Aziraphale said. “I thought so because of the music, but still there is also nothing wrong with staying home, listening to music if you feel like it. You’re still not obligated to…”

“I wanted you to think that,” Crowley interrupted. “As I wanted you to think I was busy, that I was out with other people and that I… had sex with Marc.”

“I don’t understand, Crowley.” Aziraphale looked a little hurt, but more confused. “If you are not in the mood to spend time with me, just say so. You don’t need to make up being busy with party and sex.”

With a bitter laugh Crowley shook his head.

“I’m always in the mood to spend time with you,” he said softly. “But that was not enough for me and so – selfish arsehole that I am – I decided to play stupid games.”

Aziraphale furrowed his brows, still having trouble following.

“Crowley, you did nothing wrong,” he said.

“You don’t see, Aziraphale. Those things may not be inherently wrong, but I did them for the wrong reasons. I felt like I invested more in our realat… friendship than you did. And so I decided to hurt you. To make you miss me, to make you jealous of random strangers, making you think they are my friends or lovers.”

Crowley had thought that saying it, getting it out, confessing, would make him feel better. But hearing his own nonsense spoken out, he felt even sicker. He forced himself to look at Aziraphale’s face, expecting anger, maybe cold silence.

“That is fair, I suppose,” Aziraphale said with an eerily neutral expression.

“What?”

“That you wanted to hurt me,” Aziraphale clarified. “I was so horrible to you in the past. Afraid to be your friend but unable to not be your friend. Pushing you away, keeping you at arm’s length, only to seek out your company again. You must have been very confused.”

Groaning Crowley rubbed his face.

“No, angel,” he said. “I understood. I knew why you acted like that. Sometimes I didn’t want to know so I had a reason to be mad. But I always understood.”

Crowley was sure, his heart would stop when Aziraphale cupped his cheek and smiled softly, eyes watering.

“Of course you did,” he whispered with a shaky voice. “My good demon.”

“Aziraphale…”

“I had repressed most of the horrible things I said to you over the centuries. While Onyx was torturing me, he brought them out,” Aziraphale continued, as if he had not heard Crowley, dropped his hand and averted his gaze. “But somehow it made it easier to bear the pain. Knowing that I deserved it.”

Before he could stop himself, Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s chin, rough.

“No!” he all but growled at his friend. “You did not deserve this!”

“But I…”

“You did not deserve this!” Crowley said again.

“But Crowley…”

“You. Did. NOT. Deserve. This,” Crowley hissed, stepping further into Aziraphale’s space. “Do you understand?”

Aziraphale sighed. He was visibly unconvinced, but remained silent.

“He looked like you, you know?” he said after a while.

“Who?”

“Onyx. He appeared in the living room, looking like you. It was odd of course that you should be there so I could easily trick him into giving himself away.”

Shocked Crowley took a step back to give Aziraphale space.

“Gosh, Aziraphale, I’m sorry,” he explained. “That’s why you want to go. I remind you of…”

“No, no, no,” Aziraphale hurried to say. “I knew he wasn’t you the whole time. I’m not scared of you!”

“Oh, good,” Crowley said relieved. “I’d hate to think you were afraid the whole time I tried to… Wait...”

Now it dawned on Crowley. An incubus had looked into Aziraphale’s head to find out his desires and had decided to take Crowley’s form. It was hardly longer than a week ago that this insight would have caused a smug satisfaction in him. Now he did not know how to react. Aziraphale wanted him, possibly even loved him. Suddenly the hurt he had caused the angel appeared even crueler.

Before he could say anything, Aziraphale spoke again.

“I knew he was not you,” he repeated. “But I wanted him to be you so badly.”

Now it was Crowley who cupped Aziraphale’s cheeks, tender and soft.

“Because you felt like I should hurt you?” he asked carefully.

“You should want to.”

“But I don’t.”

“No?”

“Well, I’d be lying if I said, I’d never thought about giving your cute butt a spanking,” Crowley tried to lighten the mood. “If you’d let me. I never even dreamt of violating you.”

A stray tear was running down Aziraphale’s cheek and Crowley hurried to thumb it away. Boldly Crowley circled his arms around Aziraphale, pulling him close.

Aziraphale let him. He buried his face in Crowley’s chest and sobbed.

“I’m so sorry,” he cried.

“I’m, too, angel,” Crowley said.

“He kept saying you didn’t want me,” Aziraphale sniffled.

“But I do,” Crowley said.

“I love you,” Aziraphale said quietly. “And not as an angel who loves everything, I love _you_.”

“I love you, too, angel.”

For a while, Crowley could not have said how long, they just stood there together in silence, only occasionally broken by a sniffle from Aziraphale. Crowley dared stroking through his hair while making soothing noises.

It was hard to be calm and composed right now. He was so angry. With Onyx of course, though “angry” was an understatement when it came to the incubus. Anger he reserved for himself. He loved Aziraphale and Aziraphale loved him. If he had just said something or waited a little longer for the angel to find the courage, this would be a fabulous moment.

Instead of crying against his chest, Aziraphale would be beaming brightly at him. The only kisses now were soft and soothing brushes of lips against Aziraphale’s blonde curls. If not for the whole mess, Aziraphale would press his lips…

That was when Aziraphale pulled back a little and pressed his lips against Crowley’s. Much softer and shyer than he had done a week ago to test if this was really Crowley.

For a moment Crowley stood still, but then he carefully kissed back while starting to stroke Aziraphale’s hair again. Aziraphale sighed softly against his mouth and Crowley could not be happier.

But when Aziraphale’s hands started wandering lower, Crowley broke the kiss and grabbed them.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“This is not this nonsense about how I should hurt you?”

“No.”

Crowley bit his lips while he caressed Aziraphale’s hair. It was so tempting, but he did not want to mess this up.

“Please, Crowley,” Aziraphale said with huge eyes. “I want to be yours.”

The words shot through Crowley’s body and right into his crotch. He growled and pulled Aziraphale into another kiss, deeper, filthier than the last. Aziraphale all but sunk into it, submitting at once, letting Crowley take the lead.

Crowley allowed himself to let his hands roam a little, slowly stroking along Aziraphale’s back towards his butt. Nevertheless he kept in mind not to overdo it. Demons were possessive at the core and while Aziraphale seemed to be asking for exactly that trait, Crowley would be careful.

After nipping at Aziraphale’s bottom lip one last time, he pulled back, fixating on the beautiful blue orbs that were Aziraphale’s eyes with a dark look.

“You want me to make you mine?” Crowley asked.

“Yes, please.”

“I can do that, angel,” Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s chin and smirked a little. “Even without hurting you.”

But then his eyes fell on the dark mark Onyx had left on Aziraphale’s throat and his eyes narrowed. Using his grip on Aziraphale’s face, he tilted the angel’s head to get a better look at the bruise.

“Then again,” he growled. “If you’ll allow it, I will hurt you a little.”

“Yes, please,” Aziraphale repeated and Crowley surged forward.

He started with light kisses to the sensitive skin of Aziraphale’s throat. Then he nipped teasingly at the tender flesh before sinking his teeth in. Aziraphale gasped as Crowley broke through the freshly healed skin but pressed himself harder against Crowley.

When Crowley tasted blood, he started sucking, eliciting a deep moan out of Aziraphale that had Crowley’s already half-hard cock twitch with interest. But he was busy. With his teeth and lips he covered the hated mark Onyx had left on _his_ angel with his own.

He listened carefully, in case Aziraphale started to protest or make any noises of pain, but from the sounds of it Aziraphale enjoyed the erasure of the incubus’ trace just as much as Crowley. After a while he deemed the work done and withdrew. The former red spot was now again dark purple, larger than before and all Crowley’s.

Then his eyes found Aziraphale’s. His pupils were blown wide, the deep blue irises only a small ring of sapphire around them. He was lying pliantly in Crowley’s arm and looked at him like he had hung the moon.[2]

“Thank you,” he breathed out.

“My pleasure, angel,” Crowley answered and, while pressing his now fully erect cock against Aziraphale’s belly, he added: “Quite literally.”

Aziraphale blushed but gave a shy smile as he led Crowley’s hand towards his own manhood that was in a similar state.

“May… maybe we should take this to your bed?” he asked nervously.

“If you want.”

“I… I do.”

Smiling, Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and led him to the large bed in the middle of the room. Before lying down, they divested each other of their attire. Crowley was naked first. Because while he took his time getting his angel out of the clothes Crowley had made for him, reverently unbuttoning and untying, Aziraphale with surprisingly nimble fingers undressed Crowley quickly. He opened Crowley’s fly and pulled down his pants, removing it unceremoniously together with the shoes quickly, and simply willed the dark shirt out of existence. Impatiently he fidgeted while Crowley smugly drew out his fun.

When they were naked, Crowley threw Aziraphale onto his mattress and admired his unconcealed body.

*

Aziraphale had never thought of his body as either beautiful or ugly. Human taste was the only measurement available to him and it changed like the tides. One moment he was considered an epitome of beauty, the next uninteresting or undesirable. He had long given up on following the fashion and took it neither as a compliment to be fancied nor as an insult to be deemed unattractive by humans.

But to see Crowley, the one he loved, looking at him with lust and hunger, licking his lips and flexing his fingers, sent a pleasant shiver through Aziraphale. To say that Crowley seemed to like what he saw, was an understatement. A low possessive moan rolled up from deep inside the demon’s chest, his slit pupils widened inside his golden irises and his rock hard member twitched while he took in every inch of Aziraphale’s body.

Aziraphale held his breath under Crowley’s eyes, expecting him to charge at any moment. But instead Crowley moved slowly. Like predator he crawled over Aziraphale’s body until their chests were flush against each other.

Brushing his nose against Aziraphale’s he whispered, “You’re perfect,” before grabbing a handful of blond curls to pull Aziraphale into a deep kiss that was all teeth and tongue.

Sighing Aziraphale closed his eyes and dove head first into the new sensation. He had never done this, but he trusted Crowley. When their erections rubbed against each other and Crowley moaned greedily, Aziraphale could not help thinking of Onyx for a second, sending a silent prayer of gratitude to Her, thanking for his first to be the love of his life instead of that horrible monster. Crowley had killed the incubus, had saved and healed him and would protect him.

“I love you,” he said when Crowley pulled away.

Crowley did not answer, but his expression full of adoration and tenderness was all the answer Aziraphale needed.

Reverently Crowley made his way down Aziraphale’s body. He kissed his sensitive neck and his shoulders, caressed his chest and the slight curve of his belly and carefully nipped at his inner thighs. Crowley’s hands found Aziraphale’s hips to keep him in place while he applied tender kisses to his lover’s cock.

Aziraphale shook in arousal while he was teased. But as Crowley sat up, Aziraphale noticed with satisfaction that he fared no better. His lovely long cock was already dripping with precum and his gaze was hazy with lust. Biting his lip he looked down on Aziraphale.

“Will you turn around for me, angel?” he asked.

Quickly Aziraphale moved to comply, turned to lie on his stomach and presented his back and butt to Crowley. Immediately two large hands were kneading his arse and he heard Crowley humming contendly. Aziraphale shivered as Crowley’s finger wandered along his spine several times before wandering towards his entrance, starting to circle around it.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley asked hoarsely.

“Yes, dearest?”

“Can I speed this up?” Crowley said, breathless. “I swear next time I will do it properly, like humans do, but please let me…”

“Yes, please!” Aziraphale interrupted. “We waited long enough.”

“Thank Go… Someone,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale heard him snap his fingers and gasped at the sensation of being opened. It was not harsh or unpleasant, Crowley had made sure of that apparently. But it was unfamiliar and new to be wide and wet. And he needed it so badly.

“Please, Crowley,” he whined. “I’m ready! Take me!”

Again Crowley’s warm hands were on his butt cheeks again, spreading them.

“Oh, angel, I will,” Crowley growled.

Then Aziraphale felt the blunt head of a large cock between his cheeks, poking at his entrance. Crowley was careful but resolute. His member breached Aziraphale and slid in the slicked tight hole. Aziraphale cried out when Crowley reached a lovely spot inside him. Chuckling Crowley fell into a steady thrusting rhythm, making sure to hit the same spot again and again.

“You like that, hmm?”

“Yes, Crowley, please…”

He was not sure what exactly to beg for, but whatever it was, Crowley gave it to him. Braced on his forearms, he pushed deep into Aziraphale’s yielding body, hitting the sweet spot just right and moaning out his approval. With every thrust he picked up pace, slamming his crotch against Aziraphale’s arse, massaging his lover’s inner walls with his cock.

Aziraphale wanted to contribute anything, at least say something, but Crowley had him pinned securely beneath his lean body and the constant attacks on his prostate took his breath and his words away. So all that was left was sighing, moaning and crying out in pleasure.

At one point Crowley lowered his body and grabbed a fistful of Aziraphale’s hair. He pulled his head up and growled into his ear.

“Are you’re mine?” he asked, slowing down his thrusts.

Frantically Aziraphale nodded and let out an affirming cry.

“Yes,” he breathed out. “I’m all yours.”

“That’s right!” Crowley applied a short but sharp bite to Aziraphale’s shoulder before pushing himself up again.

He pulled out, earning a desperate whine. Laughing he grabbed Aziraphale’s hips, hauled him up and arranged his lover on hands and knees.

Roughly Crowley entered Aziraphale again and this time set up a punishing pace from the beginning.

“You belong to me,” he claimed, breathless, “Do you hear me? Nobody else will ever touch you again,” angling his hips just right, he made Aziraphale cry out in bliss, “Nobody will ever hurt you again. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Crowley!” Aziraphale sobbed. “Thank you!”

“No need to thank me,” Crowley circled his right arm around Aziraphale’s body in order to wrap his hand around the angel’s neglected cock.

In combination with more hits against Aziraphale’s sweet spot, it took Crowley only a couple of rough strokes, to push Aziraphale over the edge.

Aziraphale cried out. He felt his body tighten, his inner walls gripping Crowley’s cock tight. Only seconds later Crowley held on faster to his hips, slammed into him harder and started babbling.

“Yessss!”

“Angel!”

“You’re perfect!”

“Sweet little thing!”

“Mine!”

Finally Crowley dove down and dug his teeth into Aziraphale’s neck while he came. Wet heat filled Aziraphale’s channel as Crowley rode out his orgasm.

Aziraphale was in a blissful haze. With a little whine he protested when Crowley pulled out and left, but could not move to see where he went. But since Crowley returned soon and started to clean up the semen leaking out of Aziraphale’s arse, it was no longer important.

When he was done, Crowley turned both of them to the side, snuggling against Aziraphale’s back.

“Are you alright, angel?” he asked softly.

“Very much, dearest,” Aziraphale smiled.

“Good,” Crowley said and added: “I meant it, you know? I will never let anything bad happen to you again. You will never get rid of me.”

“Sounds lovely.”

“You say that now,” Crowley chuckled. “Give it some time and you’ll be annoyed as Hell by me.”

“Never,” Aziraphale said, yawning.

“We’ll see.”

Aziraphale allowed himself to get lost once more in the warmth of Crowley’s embrace.

“I love you,” he whispered before a sweet dreamless sleep claimed him.

*

“You cannot keep your arms wrapped around me the _whole_ day, Crowley,” Aziraphale complained good-naturedly while he tried to organize a bookshelf with a demon clinging to his upper body.

“Watch me,” Crowley mumbled into Aziraphale’s shoulders and tightened his grip.

He had been very reluctant to agree to letting Aziraphale go back to work, but Aziraphale had missed his shop and offered Crowley could keep him company while he worked. That had sounded very nice. Aziraphale’s bookshop (as long as the angel himself was in it) was one of Crowley’s favorite places.

Aziraphale laughed and tried to wiggle out of his lover’s hold.

“I have work to do,” he said and pointed towards the bookshop’s backroom. “Why don’t you take care of that monstrosity you insisted on getting for my shop?”

“This actually working computer, my dove, will finally enable you to do online business,” Crowley told him.

“And why would I want this?”

“Well, instead of coming here, people order the books online and all you have to do is send them an impersonal standard mail saying that the book they wanted is unfortunately out of stock.”

Aziraphale’s face lit up when Crowley had finished.

“So they won’t come here at all?” he asked brightly.

“Not at all.”

“Oh, that sounds nice! Why don’t you stop molesting me and set this up?” Aziraphale asked excitedly. “Please? For me?”

“Fine!” Grumbling Crowley let go off his angel and spent the next hour setting up “A.Z.Fell’s” online presence. He made sure it was hard to find and frustrating to use. But not too frustrating, lest the customers get the idea to show up in person after all.

When he was satisfied with his work, he wasted some time starting threads in several online forums, asking questions (without using the search bar first) that would infuriate people and cause fights.[3]

At some point his aimless surfing led him to one specific women’s forum again and to the fanpage of Deborah Wingurl. It had been very quiet on there and Crowley thought about steering up some trouble when his eyes fell on a relatively new post. A young woman sought advice on how to give a relationship the push from friends to lovers.

“How do I make him understand that I love him and that I think we should be together?” she asked at the end of her story.

Without hesitation Crowley clicked on the reply field and typed in:

“Tell him”

The End

[2] Which Crowley in fact had not. It had _almost_ been his job, but Ariel had snatched it at the last second. Crowley was still a bit miffed.

[3] All time classics were “Should Hermione have ended up with Harry?”, “Jacob or Edward?” or “Would the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles have sex with each other?”, but Crowley never ran out of new ideas.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Leave kudos and/or a comment. Share your thoughts here or yell at me on tumblr: https://unproblematicme.tumblr.com/


End file.
